


--VOLYA.

by mercuryking



Series: ATOMIC ROMANCE: a story of dedication. [3]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Anxiety, Drinking, Emotions, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Smoking, atomic romance, is not necessarily a happy word, no beta we die like men, title refers to a scene in the middle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryking/pseuds/mercuryking
Summary: воля  ( volya )  — 'self-control; desire; freedom / absence of captivity.'“what usual russian person tends to do in his spare time? who knows. to think, to talk, to drink alcohol. alcohol not as the goal itself, but as the mean of communication, fun, forgetfulness. to volya - the russian doesn’t care about freedom, he loves volya. it means - to be without restrictions. and when he is told that here is your freedom, he doesn’t understand that.” --bulat okudzhava.in which the state of truth balances precariously on a knife's edge; but emboldened, valery seeks to return a favor.





	--VOLYA.

**Author's Note:**

> please note that this is based upon the '19 hbo miniseries and has nothing to do with the actual historical event. no disrespect is meant to any part of the tragedy in any way, shape, or form. if you truly have nothing better to do than express hatred for fanworks that cover historical events, i'd like to invite you to take a long hard look in the mirror.
> 
> direct sequel to TOSKA, as requested by yankeetooter! i tried to delve more into boris' perspective, but alas, writting our dear valery is where my skill seems to lie. the title, volya, refers more to the absence of captivity and desire than freedom or self-control; you will understand when you get further in!
> 
> unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

Vienna. It looms on the horizon, his personal Sword of Damocles.

Their time in Pripyat is almost over. Part of Valery hates it, doesn't want it to end. This is, after all, what has become his 'normal:' the contamination, the omnipresent tension, the long nights with far too little sleep...and Boris. Boris is always beside him, his port in the storm. Whether he means to be or not remains to be seen, but part of Valery doesn't care about the details. If anything, he's just grateful for the Ukrainian's consistency.

They head to the school for their conversation with Khomyuk. She's so brave, so steadfast in her desire to tell nothing but truth; it's inspiring, if not a little bit terrifying. Valery admires her, but also fears for her safety. To speak so openly about _truth_ in the face of a nation that has already given its own to the rest of the world...she's putting herself at terrible risk for little payout. No, challenging _him_ to do so. After all, even if either of them were to say anything, there is no guarantee that the pressure put on the government would be enough to facilitate the change they're looking for.

But at the same time, trusting the KGB to get the reactors fixed... No, it just isn't prudent. Valery's brows draw together as he slumps into a nearby chair, physically and mentally exhausted. He can volley facts at each opposing side in his head until he's been awake for 48 hours and hasn't managed to accomplish _anything_, but it won't matter. The government has already decided that Bryukhanov, Fomin, and Dyatlov are guilty, but then again, that isn't even for him to contest.

Boris notices. He _always_ notices. The relaxed way he comes to stand in front of the scientist directly juxtaposes how _tense_ Valery is; oh, how he wishes he could be that _calm_. But then again...Shcherbina has always _looked_ relaxed, even when he is far from it. At least when compared to Valery himself, who is the picture of anxious tension and a man at the edge of panic. "Valery. It's time to return."

Bespectacled eyes flick up to study sharp, clear ones. On the outside, nothing has changed between them since...since _that night_. He remembers it vividly, unfortunately: the faint lingering taste of vodka on Boris' breath, the warm roughness of his hands, the rich depth of his voice in his ear...even now, it makes Valery shudder ever so slightly. He can play it off as the December chill, he supposes. He plays off a lot of things, including how much that night truly meant to him. In fact, there's a little part of him that is _ridiculously guilty_ for not thanking Boris for everything that he did. Of course it isn't as if he's really had the time, not with everything that's happened at Chernobyl since then. But it's been _months_ now, and God, he hasn't even managed to _say anything_ about it!

"...right..." But when he doesn't stand, Boris arches one brow and offers him a hand. After a moment contemplating it, Valery takes it, allowing the politician to pull him to his feet.

"We will deal with Vienna when it comes closer, Valera," the Ukrainian says firmly. "Everything will be all right." He takes the lead, beginning the trek down the stairs with Valery lingering behind him, looking very lost. Very uncertain. Like he's _contemplating_ something, something _deep_. The politician pauses when he can't detect his friend's footfalls, glancing back at him with muted curiosity. "...what?"

The furrow between Valery's brows is deep, made even deeper when he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Fuck. He's been dwelling on it for long enough that it shows, but he supposes that now is as good a time as any. Especially with no listening ears around to overhear it...

"Boris," he finally says, "I...I never _thanked you_. For...taking care of me that night. And no, before you say that it was nothing, _it wasn't_. It was...the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me." A relaxing handjob in the middle of the night after a long anxiety attack is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him? Fuck, that sounds so stupid. "...wh-what I mean is..." A long, deep sigh. "...from the moment you allowed me to tell Pikalov what he should do after we stepped off of that helicopter...I knew that I could rely on you. That my first impression of you was indeed wrong. You weren't a simple bureaucrat sent by the state to hound me into some cover-up. You...were willing to at least tolerate me. And I know I can be insufferable at times, but--"

"Valera," Boris is smiling a little, as if Valery is somehow _endearing_ in his awkwardness. "You're rambling. But you don't need to thank me."

"But I _want to_, Boris," the scientist replies with a huff. "You deserve that much, if not more."

They stand in a calm silence for a moment, in which Valery cannot bear to hold Shcherbina's gaze any longer; he looks away, his bravado from earlier waning as the wind gives a mournful wail from outside. He'd wanted to tell Boris _everything_, especially since they'll likely never have an opportunity like this again, but he's losing heart. Courage isn't something that he has in spades, no: it's _situational_, it seems.

"...you're welcome, Valera."

At first he doesn't register it, but the second he does the courage to just _say it_ surges up in his chest again. And if the anxiety is so much that he can't say anything, he'll _show_ it. Yes, that seems like the most advantageous option at this point. Valery shuts off his anxious mind and follows his heart: he closes the distance between them, grabs the politician by the lapels, and pulls him into a kiss.

Immediately he tries to second-guess himself, but Boris reciprocates quickly and jerks him closer using his tie. It starts out innocent enough, but the second Valery feels the sigh against his lips, he can't help himself. One hand slips back into silvering hair as he stands on tiptoe to take control of the kiss, which he feels Boris relinquish without a struggle. There's a bit more of a rush this time since they could be discovered, so Valery doesn't care press further than this ( even though he so desperately wants to ). When they part with some sense of finality, the scientist plants his feet firmly on the floor and pulls Boris forward to rest their foreheads together as he softly says, "...stay with me tonight, Boris. Please. I can't...I won't be able to live with myself if..."

"Don't say it," Boris cuts him off sharply. "You don't need to: I know what you mean."

* * *

They appear normal for the remainder of the day, at least to the untrained eye. Pikalov doesn't say anything about how Valery seems to be more relaxed around Shcherbina now, but does find himself smiling about it when they all leave the work site. He's seen young soldiers with that doe-eyed look on their faces as they wax poetic about their love interests, but can it really be that cut and dry for a complex man like Valery Legasov? Inwardly, Vladimir hopes so. Professor Legasov is an oddity, a shrewd and passionate scientist with little experience in the ways of politics who also has no place in a militant disaster scene like this one...but more than anything else, he is a good man. He deserves to look at someone with that dreamy expression.

They return to the hotel and see Khomyuk at the bar. If she notices the way that Boris' eyes linger a bit too long on Valery's neck when they approach, she doesn't comment. Instead she invites them to drink with her while the night is still young, which Boris and Vladimir readily accept. Valery gives one of his fleeting half-smiles and sits between them and Ulana, allowing that buffer of himself in case they get into it about...something. Anything. Khomyuk and Shcherbina are like oil and water in some aspects, even moreso than he had been with Boris upon their first meeting.

Khomyuk pours them each some vodka and they drink. One glass turns into two. Two turns into four. Valery sheds his coat and rolls up his sleeves, a sign that he is becoming more relaxed. Boris' eyes flick along the lines of his arms, which aren't as thin as he'd been expecting; this doesn't go unnoticed by Khomyuk or Pikalov, who share a knowing look. Time passes amid companionable laughter, more raucous on Boris' part when they are joined by Tarakanov. He claps the soldier on the back and bids him to sit with them, introducing him warmly to Ulana, who gives a nod and a smile in return. If she had known Tarakanov better, perhaps she might have expressed her feelings to him. Because it's clear that he has noticed the too-long stares that linger between the politician and the scientist in his charge, the faintest of smiles that curls the corners of the professor's lips at something silly that Shcherbina laughs about. But the major general is a respectful man, and the odds that the pair have _any idea_ what sort of cues they're giving...well. They're _more than slim_. Then again, perhaps they just don't care.

They're all pleasantly buzzed by evening's end, minus Valery, who has instead been chain smoking like it's _not_ doing anything bad to his lungs at fifty years of age. Tarakanov leaves with a smile and a firm handshake for each of them, followed closely by Pikalov, who salutes them with a bit less sharpness than he normally might and says he'll see them tomorrow. Khomyuk is the last to stand, offering each man a lingering hug when they part ways. She tells Valery that she knows he'll do the right thing and not to forget to phone; to Boris, she softly bids him to behave and to keep their friend safe _no matter what_.

Which, of course, Boris promises with a hand pressed into her lower back and a muffled "keep yourself safe. Leave Valera to me."

By the time they make it back to Valery's room, both of them have probably had a little too much. Luckily Boris remembers to put up a front for the KGB monitors, very loudly stating that he'll see the professor in the morning to continue their work before closing the door with enough force to be heard on the microphones. He then silently clicks the door open again, yanking Valery in by the tie to kiss him once very quickly through the gap. An impulse that makes the scientist blush deeply, so Boris believes it to have been the right choice. He quickly makes his way to his own room to make appearances there, taking off his jacket with as much noise as possible after slamming the door. He doesn't wait too long before returning to the scientist's room, despite being a little less coordinated thanks to the vodka. His exit is smooth nonetheless.

The second he's able to silently close Valery's door the professor is kissing him. _'__Thank god there aren't cameras,'_ Boris thinks as he drops his hands to rest against Valery's hips. What a scandal _that_ would be.

How they make it to bed, he's not sure. The professor is insistent tonight, showing another side of himself that Boris hasn't seen since day one at that meeting that brought them together. He's a very passionate and capable lover, it turns out, and the politician is completely at his mercy, pressed flat against the bed as kisses are trailed silently down his neck and shoulder. Valery's breath tickles his skin as he lets out a shuddering sigh, trembling fingers unclasping his belt and making work of his zip. When Boris moves to help, his hands are swatted away and sharp eyes give him a warning look; "Tonight is about you, Borya."

Borya. Valery has never made that change to his name before now, and he loves it. It's enough to let him leave the emboldened professor to his own devices and simply lay back, a passive lover for the first time in his life. It's not like Boris Shcherbina not to be in control of a situation, but this time he finds himself quite enjoying it; Valery is _quite talented_ with his mouth, after all...

"Ah...V-Valera...easy..."

He hasn't done this in a long while. _Too long_, perhaps. But not unlike riding a bicycle, Valery remembers everything quickly, as though he'd never stopped. The pace he sets is even and slow, tongue joining in occasionally; once he gives a soft hum that has Boris' hands clenching in the sheets beneath them. But as good as he is, Valery knows to admit when he's been beaten. Growing old is a bitch, and he admits this quietly after allowing Boris' cock to gently slip from his lips. Besides he'd rather kiss the Ukrainian and breathe in the soft sounds he makes, so he pulls Boris over onto his side and does just that. He's rewarded with a pleased sigh and insistent hands that work his trousers open and down just enough to free his now painful erection.

"Boris, I said--"

"Hush, Valera. This is about me, right?"

That's all it takes for them to come to an understanding. Boris takes them both in hand, making the professor bury his face in the pillow to muffle his groan of approval. He's beckoned up by a hand under his cheek, and they kiss again, slow and sensual. But Valery is already trembling, lower lip worried red by teeth in between fervent kisses, glazed eyes flicking open to meet Boris' own for mere seconds before being squeezed shut as their lips meet once again. The room is stuffy now despite it being a chilly December night, hot and humid and _them_. They're breathing each other in as they sloppily kiss one another, little gasps on Valery's part filling the otherwise silent room. His head spins; he's never felt like this before, this _attached_ to another human being. Boris must be feeling something too, judging by the almost pained expression of plain desire on his face. And when it ends, the professor has to seal their mouths together to avoid the inevitable cry of his lover's name.

* * *

Pikalov is smiling like an idiot when he leaves the trailer the next morning. Shcherbina has fallen asleep in the chair closest to the phone, but Legasov is fervently notating the documents he's been preparing for Vienna, a cigarette held loosely between lips that aren't as tightly pursed as usual. He looks more relaxed than ever, even though he's still furiously working and occasionally casting glances at his sleeping counterpart while volleying questions at Pikalov about the status of things. His jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled up, despite it being December. Vladimir decides not to comment on the professor's coat being draped over Boris' broad shoulders; that, decidedly, wouldn't be proper of him.

**Author's Note:**

> i spent a lot of time writing this listening to 'the scientist' by coldplay. very valery, imo. i'm slowly building a playlist for these two old men who have overtaken my life. what should i do with it? i can't do much with my chernobyl feelings aside from write about them here. if you wanna catch me on discord to scream about the show with me, shoot me a message over on my tumblr! url is SILEVESTRIS; please note that this is not a personal account, as i do not have one, but this is where i will see your notifications! from there i will give you my discord information!!
> 
> i'm taking prompts! i especially like getting into valery's head about things. if there's anything you'd like me to write that's chernobyl-oriented, feel free to drop a comment on one of my works. i don't have a personal tumblr set up just yet!


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